


wonder that's keeping the stars apart

by zenelly



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, It's okay though, M/M, There's a lot of crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 09:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5822710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenelly/pseuds/zenelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takashi isn’t sure what to do about the days where it feels like a storm is pushing him open from the inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wonder that's keeping the stars apart

**Author's Note:**

> massive vent piece. I basically spent all of today (Monday) crying, literally from 9 am until 6 pm, so this is my self-indulgent bullshit piece of realizing that I wanted to write something that I actually cared about. That ended up being TanuNatsu, which isn't something I get to do very often, but MAN DO I LOVE IT.
> 
> (Title's from the poem [[i carry your heart with me](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poem/179622)] by e.e.cummings)

Takashi isn’t sure what to do about the days where it feels like a storm is pushing him open from the inside.

He goes through school like a phantom, barely remembering to stand for attendance. Noise surrounds him in a never ending susurrus of voices and laughter and the clanking of metal against floor and the ever-present hum of voices he’s not supposed to hear. Takashi feels it all like choking, like drowning. Like something’s going to tear him open and eat him alive. Like nails on chalkboard. 

In the end, it’s nothing.

His teacher calls him in to talk about his future, and Natsume’s hands clench on his thighs. He doesn’t know, he has to answer. He doesn’t know what he wants to do for the rest of his life. It’s a tough question to answer when Takashi had been certain, in a quiet, unstated manner, that he wasn’t going to live to see thirty. Just like his grandmother. But he can’t say that. He can’t say that he doesn’t expect to live much longer, because that? That makes it seem so bad.

It’s just that he’s not. He’s not going to. There’s nothing past this, for him. Once he gets all the names out of the Book of Friends…. 

Takashi stares down at his hands. He can see his veins underneath his skin. 

There is a burning behind his eyes, and Takashi does not blink. Nor does he look up. Crying? Here? Now? He can’t. He just-. 

He can’t.

“I’ll figure it out,” he says, finally, voice steady even as his vision blurs and distorts with the tears forming. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what he has aside from what he’s already got, and that’s. Not much.

It’s nothing. But he stands and bows to his sensei anyway, eyes and face still downturned, and Takashi blinks furiously once he’s out of eyesight, dashing away the tears. It’s nothing.

It’s the walk down to the shoe cupboards. It’s seeing Nishimura and Kitamoto hurry off without calling goodbye. It’s not seeing Nyanko-sensei waiting for him. It’s the conversation with his teacher sitting heavily on his mind, and the loneliness sitting heavily on his heart, and it's the storm gaining enough momentum to overflow.

Takashi keeps his head down the whole walk home, pretending that if he does, no one will be able to tell that he’s crying.

* * *

That, for the most part, works, except that he’s not able to stop. Crying, that is. He’s lucky enough that Touko-san and Shigeru-san aren’t home and won’t be for a while tonight, so he hasn’t had to dodge any questions from them. Takashi can then go ahead and just pull out his futon and drag the covers over his head, even though the sun is barely setting. Sensei isn’t around either. No one is. No one’s around and no one cares enough to come by to bother Takashi for anything anyway, so he’s alone to cry.

It’s nothing.

But he can’t stop.

No matter what he tries, Takashi can’t stem the flow of tears. It comes and goes, changing from a steady, slow flow to heavy sobbing, Takashi curled around himself. His mouth is open, but no sound comes out. He’s barely able to drag in enough air. Lightheaded from lack of oxygen, Takashi wonders if it’s possible to pass out from the force of crying.

He wonders if anyone would find him.

There’s a knock at the door downstairs. His grandmother’s windchime sounds, a breeze passing through. Takashi, heavy with himself, does not get up to answer the door.

“Excuse me? Is anyone home?” a familiar voice calls. Takashi’s eyes open. There’s a brief pause. “Natsume?”

Shit.

Tanuma.

He scrubs at his eyes, wincing at the lancing pain that comes from touching them, yells downstairs, “Give me just a second, I’ll be right there. You can come inside, though!”

“Oh, don’t bother coming down, then,” Tanuma says, and sure enough, Takashi can hear the tell-tale swish of the door opening, followed by the steady sound of Tanuma climbing the stairs. Takashi sits up, futon cover falling back to pool around him, and he wishes he had enough time to do more than scrub his face with his sleeves before Tanuma’s opening the door to his room.

Takashi smiles. “Hi.”

“Hey, Natsume. I didn’t catch you after school, so I hope it’s okay that I came here,” Tanuma says, kindly. His tousled black hair looks more wind-tossed than usual, and Tanuma absently tries to finger-comb it into some semblance of order as he sits next to Takashi. “Were you already going to bed?”

“N-No, I just. I had a headache,” Takashi says.

Tanuma’s eyes narrow. Even in the low light from the setting sun, he scans Takashi’s body, focusing on his face, and he cocks his head to the side. Takashi holds his breath.

“Why are you crying?”

“It’s nothing,” Takashi says shakily, trying to dissemble, and Tanuma reaches out to hush him, brushing a thumb across the line of tears on his cheeks. More start falling almost immediately, out of embarrassment at being, finally, caught.

Takashi can’t think of anything else to say.

Tanuma cups his jaw, unbelievably gentle. His eyes are swollen and red as he meets Tanuma’s gaze, and he turns his face towards Tanuma’s palm, his skin a cool balm against Takashi’s hot cheek. He closes his eyes, breathing out. Even enjoying this feels like an imposition, but he can’t help it. Takashi hears a sharp intake of breath. He looks up again.

It feels inevitable, then, that Tanuma leans in.

Kisses him. 

Feather light, on the sore, raw corner of Takashi’s eye. First one, then the other, and Takashi can’t breathe for the tenderness of it, holding himself so still in fear of shattering… whatever this is. His lungs ache. His heart is pounding. It. It feels good. His heart hurts, twisting as it thuds strongly in his chest. He can’t breathe, so of course, when Takashi finally does, it’s audible, raspy, shaking.

Tanuma jerks back. 

“I-. I’m so sorry,” he stammers out. 

No.

No, no, don’t.

Don’t be sorry.

But the words can’t seem to force themselves past the tightness in Takashi’s throat. He can’t. He can’t force Tanuma into this. He doesn’t want to, obviously. Despite what Takashi’s heart is saying. 

Despite Takashi’s stupid desire to lean up and kiss him back. Which is completely out of the blue and, again, stupid. Only it’s not out of the blue, and it’s not stupid. It’s just not something Takashi’s let himself think about. If being his friend puts Tanuma in danger, how much worse would anything else, anything  _ more _ , be? He can’t do that. 

He just  _ wants to _ .

Takashi sucks in a breath, and it hiccups both in and out, and more tears slide down his cheeks. He raises his hand to brush them away, wincing as touches the skin around his eyes. 

“Sorry,” Takashi says, trying to smile. The expression feels wobbly. He can only imagine how unsteady it looks. “I’m just. It’s nothing. It’s fine. You’re fine.”

Tanuma looks supremely unconvinced, but his blush is slowly fading. Takashi almost misses it. “Sorry, I probably made you really uncomfortable. Ahh, look at me. I came here to check up on you and I’m making a mess of things.”

“No, I.”

Takashi tangles his fingers in the fabric of Tanuma’s shirt. Stopping him from retreating too far. 

“I didn’t mind,” he admits.

“Natsume,” Tanuma whispers. Quiet. Reverent. Takashi doesn’t understand how his name can sound so good in someone else’s mouth. Like it’s safe there. Like this person, above all others, treasures it. 

He swallows. “Tanuma.”

“Call me Kaname?”

The request, made a scant distance away from Takashi’s mouth, is impossible to ignore; he nods, slowly, carefully, breathless still. Takashi feels so… aware. Of the heat growing between them. Of the aching of his eyes. Of Tanu- Kaname’s hand coming up to drag through his hair, cradle the back of his head. Takashi leans into it. Lets his head rest, trustingly, in Kaname’s hand. He brings up his hands, following the line of Kaname’s arms to his shoulders.

Somehow, Kaname brushing a kiss across his lips is still startling. Takashi doesn’t gasp. The reaction he has is too muted to be called a gasp. But he shivers, still, and does not move away, and returns the kiss softly. 

His heart is pounding.

“What do you need?” Kaname asks, not lingering too long in the kiss.

He has the throw-away thought, suddenly, that he would put his name on paper for Kaname to have, to keep, to call if he needs it. He’s not an ayakashi. It doesn’t work like that. But. The mere idea makes him shudder, clutch harder at Kaname’s shoulders. Takashi takes in a rattling breath. Shakes his head. 

He can’t say it.

“... Takashi,” Kaname says gently, and oh.

Oh.

Somehow, Takashi gathers up his strength. “This,” he rasps. “Just this.”

Kaname presses his mouth to the side of Takashi’s throat. “Okay.”

He pushes Takashi backwards onto his futon.

“Tell me if I need to stop,” he says, moving on top of Takashi. Kaname is warm, heavy in a way that settles the crawling nerves cluttering up Takashi’s senses, and when Kaname kisses him, Takashi only tilts his head to be more comfortable. He opens for the kiss sweetly, pliant. His eyelids are still sore. His face feels wet and pulled tight from the salt of his tears.

But like this, somehow, it’s okay.

“Just this?” Takashi asks, shy.

Kaname blinks, then smiles. He pulls Natsume over, so they’re laying side by side, and scoots closer to keep kissing him. Mouth, forehead, nose, eyes, gentle and tender. “Are you okay?”

Takashi breathes in, and yes, it catches on a sob, and yes, more tears fall from his eyes, soaking already abused skin, but he nods. Clutching Kaname to him, Takashi feels like something here can turn around. He feels… better. Instead of hopeless. Now he’s just washed clear, the storm passing for the time being. Kaname kisses him again and again; with each kiss, Takashi feels lighter, warmer, full up in a way he hasn’t been before.

It’s good.

It’s more than good.

Takashi presses himself closer, winds his legs with Kaname’s, and breathes out his name.

**Author's Note:**

> if you ever want to cry about tanunatsu with me, hit me up on [twitter](http://twitter.com/zenellyraen) or [tumblr](http://zenellyraen.tumblr.com). I love Natsume Yuujinchou a stupid amount, and I'm always down for a good cry about Tanuma and Natsume's related trust issues.


End file.
